Rhaegar's Odes
by Tsume Yuki
Summary: Years pass by from the Battle of the Trident, and within the Red Keep, Cersei Lannister discovers a secret room, a room filled with the late Prince's poetry. Poetry that explains just why the last name a dying Prince breathed was neither that of his wife or a shewolf. Female Harry Potter


**Rhaegar's Odes**

.

 _Years ago, a goddess first graced Westeros, though I knew not what she was at that time._

 _Colouring exquisite, as bold as flames in darkness, the sparks that fly from flint, the fire that first roars to life._

 _I knew not that she was birthed from the stars, infinite galaxies stolen away to shelter in her knowing eyes,_

 _knew not that the world could dance to the request of her fingers, that as her wrists twirl so do the oceans._

 _As our acquaintance grows longer, my disbelief grows greater,_

 _for why does such a celestial remain here, surrounded by these human unpleasantries when she could dine and dance with gods?_

 _Dread the day she leaves, for it is a hollow place within me she has come to occupy, and I shall no longer be complete._

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _She flew from my notice, right at the start._

 _Travelling upon a well worn road, accompanied by trusted friends, almost does my gaze pass over her, despite the colours she has been gifted._

 _A mane of fire, curling freely around an oval of sun warmed marble. Emeralds that rest within a crackle of storm's flaming tongue, cautious and curious._

 _She looks not upon me, pays no heed as if a prince were nought but a passing bird, a common occurrence instead of a rare sighting._

 _It is an impression that lasts, even as she is long out of sight, she is not far from mind._

 _._

 _Perhaps it was only right, given how oft she haunted every thought, that she should appear again a scant moon later, as deceptively quiet as before, ignore the loudness of her features._

 _None seem to recognise her, none seem to pay her much mind, and mayhap that is what attracted my attention ever more._

 _Freely she speaks, words laced with accent of distant shores, unrecognisable to the most learned of ears,_

 _tales of adventure, of magic and wit._

 _Such a delight to speak with, she appears twice more._

 _._

 _The third she becomes Hariel, a stranger no longer._

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _Dancing flames, thick coils that spill over thin shoulders,_

 _my Hariel, faithful friend, lips haveth never spoken an untruth._

 _You who's eyes burn greener than grass, greener than the stems of roses and greener than the spiralling leaves,_

 _you who's face is bathed within the sudden spike of thunderclap,_

 _who's eyes are graced with the fearsome fork of the gods' lightning._

 _She who has sat close, has woven tales of magic and wonder,_

 _who haveth offered me her truest council, who has no desire for riches or reward._

 _How painful the realisation that there will never be an official decree,_

 _how painful a realisation it shall never be you who becomes shrouded with Targaryen colours,_

 _how painful that you shall never call me lord husband, how I shall never aloud proclaim you lady wife._

 _My heart is yours to hold, for body and mind belong solely to the realm._

 _I entrust you my soul, my honest emotion, and pray that when this body withers, you shall always find comfort with that treasured part severed only for you._

 _Hariel, sincere friend, gracious lover, Stranger's companion,_

 _I hold your affections ever near, until I too walk willingly to greet your compeer._

.

' _You who's eyes burn greener than grass, greener than the stems of roses and greener than the spiralling leaves,_ '

Tracing those words, that one line, Cersei can almost believe they were wrote with her in mind, composed solely for her.

She can almost see it, can still picture the near inhuman beauty that had been Rhaegar Targaryen's face, can almost hear his impossible voice speaking those words. Only they were not ever declared, these words were not ever exposed to the public.

Perhaps these odes were created in this very room, a secret cache hidden within the walls of the Red Keep.

Perhaps they were only ever whispered privately, tenderly caressing the ear of the mysterious Hariel, this woman who so clearly held Rhaegar Targaryen's heart in her hands.

Poison, a green sulphur that shakes her very being engulfs her, leaving Cersei near breathless with envy.

What kind of woman could've been more beautiful than she? What kind of woman would it have taken to capture the undivided attention of unobtainable Rhaegar Targaryen?

Was it enchantment, the magic the Prince recalls?

It is the only thing that makes sense.

Cersei recalls Rhaegar near perfectly, had spent many hours looking upon his beautiful face whenever she could. Desire of becoming his queen, of birthing gorgeous babes with hair of silver and eyes of emeralds, children who look just like their father but have her eyes.

This future was crushed though, whether by that Frog, or by this woman whom enthralled Rhaegar so effectively, Cersei does not know.

Maybe they were one in the same.

Still, she cannot stop herself from tracing the words once again, cannot halt herself from reading all of the Odes she comes across.

It is painful, but it is also proof that even the Dragon Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and the one whom Rhaegar loved so purely...

It is clear proof not even these two could find happiness in this god forsaken realm.

.

.

.

 _It is the Stranger she finds comfort with,_

 _they know one another as intimately as only brothers and loves are wont to do._

 _The abyss of the beyond does not present fear, instead it is a recognised destination for one such as she,_

 _a place she has spoke of in whispered tales as captivating as a summer sky._

 _How outré, that she should walk beside the most eerie of the Seven,_

 _a deeper understanding between them than any river has ever run._

 _They are a tandem, Master and Servant, God and Chosen, hand in hand and no words need be spoken._

 _It is a symbiotic relation they share, a companionship unlike any seen before upon this earth._

 _By becoming entranced with one, I have gained the curiosity of the other._

 _The finality of the end scares most; not I._

 _I who knows what sweetness lies beyond, I who is not familiar with Death but has held its Master gently._

 _When it comes I shall greet both it and he,_

 _for no longer does fear bind me._

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _Skin soft, silken velvet, dappled in the rising sunlight,_

 _dread the day when I shall be given away._

 _You who is too honourable to lay with a married man,_

 _how I wish that wasn't so._

 _Touch as if you handle another, fingers not the gentle hold that grasp at precious metals and stones,_

 _but she who holds tight to true flesh and in that moment I am human,_

 _shed the scales, the sulphuric throat of fire quenched,_

 _never a dragon within your presence, never a prince or a thought prophesied saviour._

 _Just a man, nought but a man laid upon these ruffled sheets._

 _For a goddess such as my Hariel though, you proclaim that enough._

 _._

 _Tales spoken of in an accented tone,_

 _unfamiliar and intriguing,_

 _yours is a voice that could capture the hearts of all._

 _Charmed words, magic that dazzles and enthrals,_

 _to listen to you, my remaining days could be spent doing nought else and a man would never die happier than I._

 _Wish my sense of duty was a little less,_

 _wish I were not bound by chains of responsibility, shackled to a legacy that will bring riches or ruin._

 _Dear Hariel, sweet Hariel whom haveth conquered the Stranger, whom Death's unforgiving fingers forever fail to grasp,_

 _should you ever ask it, ever mouth the words to run away with your gracious self,_

 _perhaps I will surrender to your request._

 _A question that falters, an enquiry does not escape your lips,_

 _and so I may never be capable to breathe my answering reply._

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _There are times when I find myself bound by the shackles of our language,_

 _for how am I ever to take these emotions and force them into words?_

 _Exquisite fails to define your beauty,_

 _unearthly falls short of truly comprehending your grace._

 _How to put into words, emotions that leave clear uncertainty within one such as I?_

 _Is it possible for a man to hold such boundless love without falling apart at the seams,_

 _to have the very core of his being replaced with the thought of you, only you?_

 _The first thing to appear within my waking mind, the last thing to whisk through my head before sleep,_

 _even within my dreams you haunt them so._

 _A foreignness swells within the once comforting hollow of my ribs,_

 _ballooning with each tender touch of your hands,_

 _rippling and expanding until it has stolen my breath as effectively as you._

 _How shall I ever live without you, you who's mesmerising presence enthrals me so,_

 _you who weave within me dreams of the sweetest escapism,_

 _fantasies in which I am no dragon but a man,_

 _and you no godness but a lady wife._

 _A pray to the Seven, then a pray once more,_

 _but the Stranger cannot hold you, so what hope does the Warrior, does the Mother have?_

 _Untouchable by all that could control your life, as free and fierce as the Northern wind._

 _There is a cold hand gripping at my heart, squeezing with each breath I breathe,_

 _clenching again and again as I struggle to voice what churns within my bones, how dearly and deeply you make me feel._

 _._

 _Oh dearest Hariel, the adventure from life will be the sweetest one,_

 _for it is one I shall experience by your side._

.

.

.

 _Just this day, the King cackles of how he had burned another woman upon his fires,_

 _a woman who's hair was as red as the flames that consumed her._

 _For a moment, the crazed spirit of dragons long past overtook me,_

 _as if the Warrior himself had taken possession to wrought vengeance upon the one who stole you from this earth._

 _She was not you though, of course she was not._

 _You who has tamed the heat of fires, who has danced with tongues of flames threading between your fingers._

 _That single moment, the fear and helplessness that throbbed within at the thought of your ashen body,_

 _I cannot lose you._

 _._

 _If this is Targaryen madness,_

 _then I shall embrace it with open arms._

 _To forever be thinking of you, to be enraptured by the very thought of your gorgeous body and celestial mind._

 _To hear whispers of women blessed enough by the Seven to have just a slither of your features,_

 _for their heads to be topped by the blazing colours of sunset,_

 _for their eyes to gleam with the fresh colours of a ripened summer,_

 _none shall ever manage to compare._

 _You are the dawning summer sun,_  
 _the spring blossoms dancing upon a light breeze,_

 _you are the prestige beauty of winter's snow,_

 _the array of falling leaves that waver in autumn._

 _To describe your beauty as ought but a gift, as the seasons continue their miraculous turns, it would be a true crime._

 _To the one I would hold close,_

 _the one whom I would declare lady wife if only the world were not so cruel,_

 _you breathe wonderment into my soul._

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _Our kisses are numbered, a finite amount,_

 _our time together dwindles as the realm marches on._

 _Fingers grasp tighter, hands hold closer,_

 _lips give breath to words and promises that otherwise would lie still and silent._

 _Never shall I love another more so than you,_

 _never shall I love another as I do my Hariel._

 _A princess I may take, a Queen I may one day find by my side,_

 _never shall they compare to my divine goddess._

 _Let us fail to count each intimate brush of our lips, each stolen moment,_

 _a final number is not what I wish to hold, but instead the tender memories of each happenstance that occurs._

 _Forever my heart and cherished thoughts shall belong to you, true love shall know no limits or bounds,_

 _._

 _Until my last gasping breath,_

 _I pray your name will be the last upon my tongue._

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _A belly grows round, a swelling of unborn child._

 _It shall not be curls of red that grow, nor stars of emerald that peer back._

 _This child that comes, I shall treasure unto dying breath, they shall never be perfect though, not borne from your lineage._

 _There's distance now, space between us, an age untold since I last met your lips._

 _A greater loss man has never suffered, than to be so close and denied you, my dear._

 _My lady wife, a title that should have been yours alone,_

 _a throbbing pain by the breastbone, a constant ache that sings of loneliness._

 _For no mere mortal could match your wit, your daring, your spirit,_

 _the only truth I have never told another, a heart belongs to you, my lover._

 _A sharp sting, what could have been, had I not been a prince in need of a queen,_

 _were we just two people who met, who could idle away each passing day,_

 _in nought but the others company._

 _._

 _Verily I could have been happy, with no kingdom or crown, no riches or fame,_

 _just you in my arms for each and every falling dusk and cresting dawn._

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _There is a prophecy that hangs heavy overhead,_

 _whispered words that speak of dark days to come._

 _My dear, you have seen this all before, the hero in your tale that stood so tall and bold._

 _The dragon must have three heads,_

 _only two borne of one wife,_

 _there shall be no more from the one I have slowly come to call friend._

 _How dearly I wish they were scales of ruby,_

 _how deeply I wish those eyes glowed with liquid emeralds._

 _The realm demands all, steals away all until only a near husk remains,_

 _marching on through the necessities._

 _Only when alone,_

 _lying in the bed that was once ruled by us two,_

 _can I allow my thoughts to dream of you._

 _Of those elegant hands, so gracious and strong,_

 _of those petal lips that promise so truly and speak no lie,_

 _of your enchanting self, missed so dearly by my empty arms._

 _The dragon must have three heads,_

 _you who has had prophecy rule her life before, how did you not buckle beneath such pressure?_

 _I do not wish to partake in this once again,_

 _forever more is asked, things demanded that I burn only to gift to you._

 _._

 _How cruel this world is, that I must seek out others when it is my Hariel I long for._

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _How strange Dornish culture is,_

 _she has long accepted a declaration that my heart is already stolen long before we married,_

 _Even now as I seek another to bear the third head,_

 _it is with her truest blessing._

 _The shackles of our politics are so very different to her ways,_

 _it invokes a deep pondering._

 _What are a goddess' opinions upon such a thing?_

 _Had our meeting happened differently,_

 _it is not with the Stranger, but with the Mother you would have been linked,_

 _so obvious is your love, your desire for family._

 _Saddening, how not even a deity such a you can be granted happiness._

 _A mother to the third is now what one quested for,_

 _one who shall understand she will have no chance to steal a heart that is already bound with chains of unbreakable links._

 _For all of those affections that bloom within my heart are pressed freely into your open palms,_

 _and I pray that what I cradle within the meadow of my body is an immortal heart_

 _one to spend the last of my breathing years treasuring._

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _A She-Wolf,_

 _wild and free,_

 _desperate to remain unchained._

 _Tentatively an agreement is formed,_

 _exchanging protection and a mirage of shackles,_

 _to birth a child of ice and fire._

 _Surely this is the prophecy told long ago,_

 _the infinite threads of fate weaving seamlessly together,_

 _a tapestry created._

 _Splendid an image showcased to the world,_

 _with all the knots and disorder hidden beneath,_

 _the chaos of the unseemly upon the flip side, it shall never see the light of day._

 _Do you look upon this creation?_

 _Or is it you that picks at the cluttered tangles,_

 _slowly eases them free,_

 _removes them from the greater picture once their presence no longer remains necessary?_

 _Let the last thread you pluck free be I,_

 _so that there may never be a reason to leave the tender cradle of your fingers,_

 _so you may never have need to release me from your grasp._

 _Allow me to rest this weary head down beside yours,_

 _for my role within this show must be nearing the finale,_

 _the act over and the stage reset for the opening of a long awaited tale._

 _The way is paved for that Prince long promised,_

 _and I ache to drift into your loving embrace._

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _War rages,_

 _a storm long time brewing._

 _Bones are heavy,_

 _Through with proving points that were never sought out._

 _This fighting, a pointless endeavour._

 _The King a poison for the realm,_

 _an antidote concocted, yet far too slowly._

 _It is not one I shall witness administered,_

 _already afflicted with dragon's blood madness._

 _How innocent an insanity though,_

 _to steal my focus upon you only._

 _Long ago, an acceptance once formed,_

 _it is you I would willingly die for,_

 _would lay down a life if you asked it if me._

 _That too has been stolen, wrestled away by those with the fury._

 _For all that fire and blood,_

 _the choice of how these ashes will be scattered,_

 _how this ichor will fall,_

 _that too is pulled from my trembling grasp,_

 _a stretch of sword the thought suitable replacement._

 _Never has four foot of steel seemed so very little, so inadequate._

 _For years, a heart has throbbed and craved to reach you,_

 _in a joining far more sacralised than the bonding of marriage._

 _Soulmate, the half to create a whole,_

 _the only explanation as to why all has fallen apart as I try to build this castle on my own._

 _The stones have crumbled, for skilled with mortar I am not,_

 _only a haunting shadow of what once was dreamt remains,_

 _ruins far too recent than should ever exist._

 _Pray the next adventure my goddess speaks so fondly of is an improvement,_

 _with my Hariel by my side,_

 _even eternal torture would be most exquisite._

 _For my breast is conquered,_

 _territory claimed in what seems an eon past,_

 _it is your arrow that rests there,_

 _your colours that flutter as a flag within._

 _._

 _War is ripe for love and tragedy,_

 _a battle for the Trident._

 _It is time for my Goddess to claim her prize._

 _._

 _._

 _._

"You know, I'm terrible at writing poetry myself."

Tyrion meets the strangest woman to ever appear in his life a mere year before everything falls apart.

It is their only meeting.

He's studying, flicking through poetry this time. Not groundbreaking stuff, but the words still house enough internal reflection to capture his interest.

Mayhap he will memorise some of the sweeter lines, to whisper into the ear of his latest bed-warmers. No matter their stature, all women appreciate honeyed words, that will never change no matter how they force themselves to react.

Still, housed within the Keep of a Lord sworn to his father, Tyrion does not expect to see a creature such as this woman pull up a chair before him, a quill balanced delicately between her fingers as she lays parchment upon the table.

"That you are attempting at all is a step forwards, my lady," Tyrion muses, eyes flickering all up and down her form, trying to place her.

He's been to this Keep a handful of times, she must be new,his eyes would have never missed such a beauty.

"He always wrote me such beautiful things, I felt like I had to give it a go, at least." She breathes these words quietly, as if it is a most treasured secret.

Tyrion does not find it hard to believe this woman has had poets regale her with their works, that she has become a muse for one she clearly favours. Her colouring alone is exquisitely exotic, enough to inspire even the most amateur of artists.

"And the lucky charmer to win such a beauty's heart?"

"Dead," she whispers.

Her words do not hold a finality though, her eyes lingering upon the door as if her evidentially departed lover will sweep right across the threshold.

Mismatch eyes flicked to the paper, and the woman does not hesitate to push the parchment his way, penmanship impressive.

One quick glance, to ensure she is fine with him reading her most delicate thoughts, and Tyrion stills.

The woman cradles a jewel between her fingers, one that rests in the hollow of her collarbones.

He has no idea just why, but his mind instantly leaps to the missing royal necklace, one who's disappearance his 'sweet' sister has raged over.

The only necklace Prince Rhaegar was ever seen to have crafted, never mind that he was said to have come away from the smithing fire with fingers that blistered for days.

Eyebrows furrowing, Tyrion focuses on the parchment, his mind whirling.

.

 _Words have never come easy to me,  
_

 _I'm a woman of action, I stumble whenever I try to voice my feelings,  
_

 _But you wielded words with the same ease as a sword,_

 _so it only feels right I at least attempt to birth these emotions.  
_

 _Before you, I'd never wanted to pull another into my sphere,_

 _into my world where nothing ages and Death is a figure, not an occurrence.  
_

 _Before you, I never wanted to open up,_

 _to allow another to touch me as surely as you have come to do,  
_

 _Before you, I had never been so blatantly selfish as to ignore all the warning signs,_

 _to accept your tender embraces and your loving words.  
_

 _But after you,  
_

 _after you I know there will be no other,  
_

 _know there will be no fluttering first meetings,  
_

 _know that eyes will never linger after strangers in passing.  
_

 _It is you,  
_

 _you who has breathed the colour back into this world,  
_

 _you who has brought back the music that the world no longer sung into these ears.  
_

 _It is you that has returned love to a girl who knew only death and war,  
_

 _knew of endless eternity with nothing to hold.  
_

 _Your time on this world may be short when measured by immortal means,  
_

 _but I do solemnly swear that I am up to no good,  
_

 _that your next great adventure will be one by my side, until you tire of my company.  
_

 _Then, my Dragon Prince, I will hold you to my chest just once,  
_

 _because those that love us, will let us go when we wish.  
_

 _Though I do hope that should never occur,  
_

 _I will take whatever time you grace me with._

.

 _For I am yours until the final shadow, the last setting sun,  
_

 _and when the night stretches it's stars out across forever,  
_

.

 _As the Master of Death I so do declare,  
_

 _There will be no Life for me when you're no longer there._

.

What.

Tyrion' eyes snatch up to glance at the woman once more, only impossibly, she is gone.

The chair upon which she once sat houses a simple symbol now, bleached right into the leather. A triangle embracing a bisected circle.

A symbol he later learns to have appeared upon every statue, every painting and every sculpture of the Stranger that Westeros houses.

.

Tyrion looks for the woman, the woman whom is impossibly too young to have held Rhaegar's favour yet who's words spoke of powers beyond their world.

Not until his next visit to the capital does he discover what his sister has found, and it is not until he has read all within that he receives more questions than answers.

.

He never allows her to know that there exists one final poem, an ode for the Last Dragon.

One that proves Rhaegar's goddess loves him past life and death itself.

.

.

* * *

 **Because I really wanted to practice my poetry?**

 **honestly I have no idea what this even is, and I doubt I'll ever do anything like it again.**

 **So erm, happy 2017? Here': hoping it's a good one for you all.**

 **Tsume**

 **xxx**


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